Acquiescence
by openpetals
Summary: Ian is captured. Will he be able to overpower the Soul which has been implanted in him, designed to become a Seeker? Post-Host. Canon. O'Wanda.
1. 1

**1**. _like a wall of stars, we are ripe to fall  
_

* * *

The first awareness of my senses is catalysed by a rush of grapefruit.

I inhale the soothing smell and in turn a fresh clearance floods into my conscience. Where am I? What planet did I inhibit? I could indicate there were other presences in the room.

"Crystalline Glaciers," a calming voice murmurs from somewhere beside me, "Brightest sun, longest day." Ah, yes. A greeting from the Planet of the Flowers brought some familiarity. I must have arrived at my designated destination.

I attempt to move myself and instantly acknowledge the senses on this planet were far more acute. My body is much more complicated too, as if filled with wires and connections. I experiment with some of these joints and feel myself tightening, rising from my resting position.

My adjusting vision meets with a pristine expression, one which I had seen on many Healers. "Are you feeling well, Glaciers?"

I look at the Healer blankly in response. My existence at the Planet of the Flowers had made my demeanour nonchalant. "Swell," I reply easily, the knowledge from this new host flowing into me at a rapid rate.

The Healer seems appeased. "My name is Fords Deep Waters," he says calmly, "There has been a specific Calling for you in this world." He appears to falter for a moment after speaking such words, looking away from me, distracted. "You are to meet with the other Seekers. I will direct you there."

To be honest, I had little idea what he was talking about. The vocabulary used on this planet was still unfamiliar to me although I was exponentially growing known to it. I didn't know what he meant by _Seekers—_they weren't available on the other planets.

Soon I am guided to a room which smell of sharp antiseptic, filled with Souls who have their delegated hosts and dressed exactly the same as each other. All wear white clothing: an assemblage of a long-sleeved suit knitted together by buttons and tight pants. It takes me a mere second to realise I am dressed in a similar manner.

All the Souls additionally exhibit the identical, tactful expression, complete with a clipped tone as one of them speaks to me. "Welcome, Crystalline Glaciers," the one closest to me greets. This Soul is a male who has slick, blonde hair and frozen, green eyes. He stands astute, shoulders angled like blades. "I am a Seeker. The rest of the Souls you see here are also Seekers." They all nod instantaneously in response.

I smile in courtesy, though it feels all very strange to me. "If you do not mind me asking, what are Seekers? I have not came across such a Calling in the other planets."

The Seeker who had spoken to me seems to remember this only now. "Oh," he states, an amused but stiff edge to his own returning smile, "I had forgotten. This planet is quite different, Glaciers. As you would have known from your many experiences, most of the planets do not bear resistance to our colonisation. This is not the case here."

I don't respond, only politely wait for him to continue. He does, and begins pacing smoothly around the room. "You see, this particular planet is called Earth and is home to humans. They are unlike the Flowers you had last been a part of, with little emotional spectrum. Humans are—" He struggles to find an appropriate word here, "—_wild_."

"How peculiar," I comment lightly.

The Seeker's smile turns wry. "Some would say the humans are savage, in fact, which is why we have been designed. Seekers like us are intended to search for the last ounces of resistance on the planet Earth."

Something feels incomplete about that statement. "Search?"

The Seeker is hesitant for a heartbeat, but only a heartbeat. His eyes seem to become more frozen. "And terminate. Which is why we have assigned you as a Seeker as well. Due to your existence in the Planet of the Mist as one of your lives, we have the expectancy such a planet's similarity in species and landscape to Earth would only be beneficial."

I mull over that for a few seconds. Indeed, I had inhibited the Planet of the Mist, but that was only a fragment of my journey. I was originally born on the Origin, one of the few which had chosen to travel elsewhere. Apart from the Planet of the Mist and the Planet of the Flowers, I had also inhibited the Fire World, which made me more hardened than other Souls.

I can see the Seekers consider me more highly than they usually would due to being from the Origin. They would have performed an information sweep before I approached them as well, to make sure I was suitable. I keep a compliant expression. "Seems practical."

The Seekers all smile at me then, so pearly white and curled like the Cheshire Cat that for once in my long existence, I felt odd surrounded by other Souls. The Seeker which had led the discussion continues his role, suavely motioning to join him near the glass window which reveals the Earth in front of me.

"A Seeker is already a significant Calling," he declares with a more prominent importance in his tone this time, "But you have a more imperative role. You have been designated to find one of our own. One which has, kindly said, placed us in a compromised position."

Abruptly I realise the Healer, Fords Deep Waters, is still in the room. He is nearing the exit door, but his steps still. He looks back at us, a concerning flash in his eyes, like he knew what we were talking about. Quickly he looks away, yet does not move.

I resume my watch to the Seeker. "And who is this Soul?"

The Seeker grins, teeth sharp and fiendish. "Why, you will soon know her from the memories of your host. Wanderer."

At that very second, a sharp pain ripples through my chest that I had never felt before in all my existence. It was as if a knife had cut through my skin and tore through all my muscle. The sensation travels through my spine, an icy fire which electrocutes me.

_No. NO!_

Instantly I repel, the result showing physically. The Seeker raises his eyebrow in question and I smile uneasily. What had just spoken to me? I did not remember preparing such words.

_Of course _you_ didn't, _the voice spits at me. The voice sounded like my own. _  
_

I was sure the Seeker couldn't hear this internal conversation for he continues waiting for my response, only curiosity but not suspicion in his eyes. "I am sorry for my hesitation," I mumble, "I am getting adjusted to this new found... savagery you speak of." The antagonism spikes inside of me again.

The Seeker nods. "Understandable," he replies, as if repulsed by the behaviour of humans which had not been entirely uncovered yet. "I will give you time to rest as your Healer has suggested. I will meet you tomorrow in this same conference room for inquisition."

_Like hell you will._

I bare my teeth as soon as the Seeker walks away to join the others and follow Fords Deep Waters to my room. Fords is quiet—too quiet—and I draw the conclusion he knew something about this Wanderer. But I don't ask. I continue to ignore the voice in my head, hoping to gag it and shove it back into the recesses of which it came from, although I feel it wouldn't be this easy.

Once I am alone in my room, I decide it would be best to find the ends to the enigma present in my conscience. _Who are you?_

_Who am I? _The voice seems to laugh dryly. _I should ask who _you are. _After all, you are the one who stole my body!__  
_

_You are a human_, I conclude predictably, trying out the word in my head._ A human. Why are you still alive in my conscience?_

_Did you not hear the savagery the Seeker spoke of? _The voice revokes bitterly, a mocking tone acquainting the reply. The voice shuffles away afterwards, somewhere into the crevices of my mind.

I needed sleep. Situating myself in the odd bed and resting my head amongst the pillows, I turn my head towards the window which acted as a clear wall for my room. As I gaze to the night sky which was littered with stars, a feeling of yearning spreads through me, a fanning of flames. This yearning was not mine—it was the human.

Needless to say, this yearning does not escape me even as I fall asleep. Images of a girl surrounded by golden streams of light, which I slowly grasp were her hair, plague me in my dreams. I hear myself speak to her in these dreams, my voice filled with adoration and my words with promises.

I have never found it hard to let things go as a Soul. Having lived thousands of years which were divided to long lengths on different planets, I have become accustomed to experiencing and then losing. But this didn't mean it made it easier for me to have these dreams.

These dreams were so vivid, so alive and unlike anything I had ever endured before. I felt emotions which I knew were not my own but were forced to embrace. Gradually the events in the dreams descend from happy circumstances to what I recognised would have been the latest occurrence. It felt too clear to have been long ago.

The latest occurrence appears in my dreams from the clattering of shrapnel, the noises of danger and death. I see my body spilling with blood and the very Seekers I had been approached by today in front of me, regarding me cruelly as I died. There is a revolver in one of the Seeker's hands and I comprehend this is how the end came for the human I inhibited.

But there was no agony for my wound. The agony only arrives when my eyes land on the golden girl a far distance away from me. I can tell she is crying and instantly recognise she is a dear one to the human. She is struggling to come forward to tend to me but is held back by some unknown figures.

"Wanderer," I hear my voice rasp, with unmasked desperation.

The girl leans forward in a similarly stricken manner, gasping back, "Ian."

The human's name is Ian. And this was Wanderer. But wasn't Wanderer meant to be a Soul? _How_ could a human love a Soul?

Nonetheless the dream was fading. Ian is falling unconscious, though he struggles to keep his eyes connected to this Wanderer. The last words he utters before he succumbs to his slumber shake me to my very core.

"I love you, Wanderer, my beautiful Wanderer. I _will _come back." I don't know whether the girl heard or not for the dream ends there. I wake with a snap, my body drenched with sweat and my exhales and inhales coming in rushed huffs. My hands grip the quilts and my body feels as if it had been submerged in the worst torture imaginable.

I immediately stand, determined to make light of this information which needed to be delivered to the Seekers. I needed to fulfil this mission so I could rid of Ian and all the horrible emotions which came with him. I _hated _everything which I had felt, but at the same time, I treasured them.

The defiance of Ian invades in my mind once he understands what I am trying to do. _No, _he hisses uncontrollably. _You heard my last words. I will make good on my promise._

I didn't even want to think about any of this too much, in case of empathising with him. I sit next to the wide window where the table was situated, hurriedly gathering the paper and utensils which had been supplied.

As soon as I grasp the pen in my fingers, the cutting pain I had felt earlier returns with crushing force. The pain makes my body writhe in all directions and for a split-second, I lose all authority of my actions. My hand clenches into a fist and surges into the glass of the window beside me, shattering one portion of the window but rupturing all the skin in my hand.

I howl. _What are you _doing?

_As long as I am here, _Ian growls as I hold my bloodied hand, _Those Seekers will _never _get a hand on her. _I realise the injury he had made on me was a threat, a challenge almost. He would completely destroy himself and anyone else he needed to if it meant saving Wanderer.

An image of Wanderer fills my mind again, the silver lining of her eyes the most prominent feature. I come to terms with what I thought was impossible: a human, Ian, loved a Soul, Wanderer.

The image of Wanderer shifts into a moving motion. Her fingers cradle my cheek as she speaks to me softly, "Kind enough to be a soul, but strong as only a human could be." Wanderer dissipates into the distance just as she had came.

_Ian? Kind enough to be a soul, but strong only as a human could be? Could it be possible?_

Albeit intending my thoughts to be rhetorical, I am given a reply. _Don't Souls never lie_, Ian whispers, the previous harshness gone.

I don't gift him with affirmation. Too many thoughts are swarming in my mind, enough to make me feel congested without the recoveries from Ian. I obtain a small towel to wrap around my arm, although the white quickly bleaches into red. I turn my gaze to the window once more and find I despise myself when my eyes begin to search for something in the horizon, or someone, I should say.

It is hours later until I begin to sleep again. When I wake, I raise shaking fingertips to my eyelashes. They are wet.

* * *

I really did quite want to write more in this chapter, but I figured enough action and development happened as it is. This will be a continuing story as I have something in mind to where it will go. I have always liked the idea of experimenting with Ian being captured because he is such a dynamic character who would clearly not be subdued. All reviews and such alike are appreciated! :) The lyric reference at the beginning of the chapter was Too Late by M83.


	2. 2

**2.** _in the wrong place trying to make it right__  
_

* * *

My first priority in the morning is to cleanse my wounded hand.

I realise belatedly it is something I should've done earlier, as injuries on Earth are prone to infection. After just a night without treatment, flexing my hand has become a difficult task.

Additionally, my hand has become numb due to the lack of circulation and I find it is less likely I want to rid of the wound because it hurts. Rather, it is because the wound is a reminder of Ian's resistance and consequently the resistance of all humans**—**a notion I have been created to eliminate.

More importantly, it is a notion I _should _eliminate. Unnerved, I grit my teeth as I pull myself from my seating position in the bed. I grimace when I pass the broken shards of the glass window on the floor, having no current idea how I plan to explain that to the Seekers who seem to be Souls designed to live on conservative lines and angles.

Clothing myself with the assemblage the Seeker who had spoken to me yesterday gave me, I inspect myself in the mirror for a moment. I don't fail to recognise this human body would be appealing to others of the same species. It is quite well sculptured, with a fine facial structure and lean physique, complete with oceanic eyes and tousled black hair. This is _my_ body now, I state to myself, determined.

Ian says nothing in response, but he communicates his disapproval effectively through the burn in my chest. I turn away from the mirror before I can speculate too much over the glisten which still resides within my eyelashes.

I exit my room and walk through the halls until I reach the department designated for the Healers. All the walls existent in the building are washed with a reflective and immaculate white, the cleanliness slightly unsettling. I have never seen my species so devoted to perfectionism. I suppose we _do _opt towards purity, but not a clinical superiority such as this.

I can hear Ian laughing quietly in the back of my mind, amused at my observations and claiming a victory in the way I have begun to question my species. I clench my jaw and resolve to reach my objective. I turn the knob of the door to enter the Healers' department, slipping on an eerie smile which mirrors the Seekers I had witnessed yesterday. I am becoming a Seeker. I _will _be a Seeker.

Fords Deep Waters meets my gaze from one side of the room. He is ordering the apparatus and I see the labels such as _Awake, No Pain _and _Heal. _I maintain my smile as I step towards him, announcing in what I hope is an affable tone, "One of those implements may become beneficial to me, Healer."

I lift my hand into his line of sight, but Fords seems to look past that entirely. His eyes are travelling down my attire, his scrutinising stare akin to a forensic investigator. My smile thins when I note he holds the same disconcerted expression as he did yesterday. I am now wearing the apparel assigned to Seekers and accordingly quickly make the connection. Fords isn't fond of Seekers.

_Who in their right mind _would_ be fond of Seekers? _Ian speaks up for the first time in the day and I feel that he is referring more to me than to anyone else. I disregard his comment although my smile now becomes _both_ thin and steely. It is as if he hopes to remind me of who I intend to become.

I motion towards Fords in a manner of someone waving their hands in front of someone else's face, just more delicately. "Fords?" I remind with a gentle veil over an impatient underlining.

He appears to snap back to reality, shaking his head in embarrassment and grasping a capsule of Heal into his hand. I can still see the shaky steps he makes towards me and the rigid posture of his body, like he has been attuned to being overly cautious around Seekers. Fords graces my hand into his as he sprays a flourish of the Heal substance onto my skin. It is a cooling sensation and I watch in silent amazement as the wound seals itself.

My smile returns, the steel of it softening. "I appreciate your assistance," I say smoothly, although it is clear he is questioning the genuineness of my welcoming expressions. "Such a minor mishap was clumsy of me." He mechanically turns around to return the capsule to its location amongst the array of apparatus, occupying himself with anything other than my presence.

I vocalise my thoughts, "Is there something bothering you, Fords?" The innocence of my tone is merely an attempt—the grace of it doesn't work well with the baritone of my voice, despite witnessing in Ian's memories the ability in him to transform his voice from deep indifference to undeniable sweetness. It seems my experimentation falls short as Fords just shakes his head, his back still facing me while he frantically orders the capsules.

I sigh inwardly and turn on my heel, striding towards the door once I remember I have a meeting with the Seekers this morning as well. Before I can close the door behind me, though, Fords' hesitant voice follows after me: "Has any progress been made concerning Wanderer, Glaciers?"

I stiffen in my steps. I can hear how he tries to make the word 'Wanderer' sound foreign and it makes me convinced that to Fords, she is anything but. I decide on a vague answer to his question, murmuring leisurely "Of some sorts."_  
_

I receive no response of word nor movement and figure it would be more fruitful to ask the Seekers about Fords' connection with Wanderer for it is very probable the information could be useful for my search. Ian is less than pleased with my thoughts as I make my way to the Seekers, a meeting which will serve as my orientation to become one of them.

_One of them,_ Ian mutters, constructing the words so they sound like a disease. I fight the urge to become frustrated at the obvious difference between our two species. Humans are far too complex. There is right and wrong, good and bad. For Souls, our only function is to efficiently maintain ourselves with as little violence as possible. Maybe there _is _hypocrisy in that as we are relying on violence to oppress the humans, but if there is any downfall to me, it would be over-thinking.

Ian becomes exceedingly distasteful as this. _You aren't thinking_ enough, he accuses, _You're too obedient... A sycophant almost. I actually think your fear over-thinking about things because then you'd realise the faults of your species. _Ian clearly has intellect—a philosophical understanding with the human condition which I will never be able to exhibit myself. Nevertheless, in my case, ignorance is bliss.

As it comes to be, my meeting with the Seekers is a one-on-one affair. My assigned Seeker is named Stygian Spades, the same from yesterday. I have an inkling that, as he guides me with arms too encouraging, eyes too intrusive and smiles too counterfeit, I am treated with a sense of importance unlike other Souls. There is also a hint of reluctant reliance, a dependence and need for me to reach absolution.

To be quite honest, I was eager to reach this absolution. I could predict Ian being pinned to the back of my mind would soon have a withering effect which would make me understand why the Seekers aspired to extinguish humanity. It wasn't because my species was necessarily cruel; it was because we couldn't comprehend the very idea of resistance. Resistance is an unknown concept and unknowns are commonly feared. So, you could say, we in fact _feared _the humans.

In this same way, I didn't want to discover what sort of influence Ian would have on my body if I continued co-existing with him. I figured once I accomplished my task as Seeker, I would be able to work towards another Calling. Consequently, I attentively listen to Stygian as he outlines what it is to be a Seeker.

"The rules are simple," Stygian states bluntly, his eyes like ice as he watches me closely, lips set into a thin line. "Eradicate the humans and salvage the Souls when possible."

The atmosphere is heavy between Stygian and I. I feel as if I am talking to a sharply diplomatic individual and any word I say may or may not be a step in the wrong direction. "When possible?"

Stygian shuffles the documents in his hands and looks at me with what I assume is meant to be a grim expression, but only gives off a fabricated impression. "Sometimes sacrifices must be made," he replies vaguely, and suddenly he is grinning with those shark-teeth again.

Stygian passes the documents to my side of the table, beckoning me afterwards. I pick them up with apprehensive fingers when Stygian denotes the documents as the current information gathered on Wanderer. There are photocopied sketches of what I assume to be topographic landscapes, along with typed notes and profiles of Wanderer and the humans she is alleged to be associated with.

I select the document with the picture of Wanderer. My eyes narrow in confusion. _This _is not the Wanderer I saw in Ian's recollections. The person in the picture bore a much finer facial structure than the image in my dreams. The Wanderer I knew had a softer face and did not whatsoever exhibit the dark hair, hazel eyes and sun-kissed complexion that this stranger did.

I discern this photograph must've been Wanderer's initial host, meaning she was reinserted into another human afterwards. Did this mean the Seekers had been long looking for Wanderer and suffered failure after failure? Was I being attributed to chase a mere shadow—a shadow whose impact is arguably only psychological?

I grip the document in my hand. It was all coming to fruition now. The Souls perceive Wanderer as the impetus for human revolution. Ian's awakening at my thoughts only cause me further emotional turmoil as I weigh the opposing sides. Revolution in most, if not all cases, is the overthrowing of the aristocracy. In this case, _we _were the despotic aristocrats and the humans were the revolutionaries, searching for the liberation we had ripped away from them.

Ian is quiet as he listens to me and the strange harmony disperses through my veins. I trace the unfamiliar photograph with my index finger. "This is Wanderer?" I question to Stygian, despite already knowing the answer.

He nods proudly in response. I don't quite know what there is to be proud about. I have never associated arrogance or ignorance to my species, but as Stygian gazes down at the photograph with disdain, there is a pinch at my ribs. Revulsion.

_Don't tell him the photo isn't her, _Ian says urgently, feeling the upper hand in this situation.

I swallow the lump in my throat. _I won't. _Biting my cheeks at my compliance, I correct myself. _I don't need the Seekers. They are insufficient. I can do this on my own._

"Crystalline Glaciers," Stygian cuts in formally, the pride disappearing. "Perhaps you need more time. I presumed you would have been able to recognise Wanderer, but it seems you fell short. Not to worry."

I desire to seethe at his condescension and the elitism in his eyes, but instead hold back. "Thank you," I say once I stand up, pushing the chair neatly back under the table. "I will see you in a few days?"

Stygian clicks his tongue. His response is short, "I will arrange our next meeting." He stands up in a similar manner to what I did before walking towards the window in front of us, the sunlight incandescent on his figure. I see a gleam on the side of his body, the shining silver of a revolver settled into a duty belt.

Ian takes special notice of this and immediately there is an itch in my hands, the impulse of motion. The sensation is insidious, a crawling venom in my bones and I have to clench my fist to stop the tingle from spreading.

_I _can _do this on my own, _I reinforce with emphasis, a directness to Ian. I speed out of the room, winding through the corridors until I reach my own again. I open the door with swiftly, closing it behind me. Almost simultaneously, a wind hits my face and my back smacks against the wall.

The window is still broken. _Could you do this without me? _Ian demands. He throws punches of his memories, blows of the smile and touch and voice of Wanderer. The sentiment is infectious, seeping into my system and weakening me like a sickness. _Without me, you have nothing._

_Without _me, _you have nothing! _I bite back, pushing myself off the door. I lean down to the floor to pick up the glass shards which still remain. Before I am aware, Ian surges through my body and braces my hands, wrapping my fingers around the glass shards. The damage is instant, the shards crushing against my skin and gushing blood.

Sobs wreck through my body and I understand it isn't the injury hurting me this much. _Without _her, _I have nothing_, Ian snaps back, his voice thick with the tears I am shedding. _I already have nothing._

My immunity to Ian dissolves and the movements I make are his. I lay down onto the ground, amongst the glass shards. The sunlight from the window is warm but I only feel the penetrating cold.

Minutes later I am as hollow as the human within me.

* * *

This was interesting to write, to say the least. The chapter basically wrote itself, but I am somewhat pleased with how it came out. I wanted to outline the differences between Souls and humanity and then achieve unification by the end, with a little angst.

Thank you for such a wonderful response on my first chapter, I was more than glad with that and expected much less. To **Cloudcity'sbookworm, **I'm happy you thought I wrote the speech of the Souls correctly, because that's exactly what I intended! :) I appreciate the kind praise.

The lyric reference at the beginning of the chapter was Come Home by OneRepublic.  



	3. 3

**3. **_you never shine if you never burn_

* * *

It takes hours for me to regain control and for Ian's anguish to recede.

I can still feel his heartache simmer on the surface of my skin with every movement I make. Human emotions were so overwhelming and I wondered how any Soul could ever grow accustomed to this—unless they were to _become _human and adopt the same mentality.

I wince at the thought. The past hours were spent with me on the same level as Ian, absorbing all of his sadness to the degree I believed I was no longer myself. Regardless, Ian and I were still different, and infinitely so. The emotion he transferred onto me was akin to an injection of a foreign substance. I would continue to fret about its impact on me.

By the time I rose from my position on the floor, my back muscles ached and the blood from my hand had dried. The injury this time was less than what it was before, as I only had scrapes and cuts rather than a rupture. Although I could avoid the Healer, I doubt I could avoid avoid Stygian about my broken window. If I kept hiding it from him, it would only result in more suspicion once he found out.

But for now, I am tired, the slackening of all my bones lulling me to sleep. I walk towards the side of my bed before landing into the comfort of quilts and pillows. It doesn't take long for me to fall asleep. Ian is silent, probably because he was just as exhausted. The emptying of emotion left us feeling depleted in all areas. _Us. _The last thing I remember thinking is how odd that tasted on my tongue before I am consumed by oblivion.

I am awoken in the morning by a firm knocking at the door. I am unable to revel in the fact this was my first long, dreamless sleep in days. I get up sluggishly, rolling my shoulders as I grip the knob of my door. Predictably, Stygian reveals himself at the other side of the door, his expression disconcerted. It doesn't take much time for him to notice the slight fissure in the window, which produces whiffs of cool breeze against my back.

"I see you have had an accident," Stygian says blandly. He doesn't wait for me to welcome him in. Instead, he brushes past my arm and into the room, his eyes investigating.

I grimace. "My host is vivid," I explain in what I hope is a convincing voice. I watch Stygian sweep his hand over the quilts of my bed, which have become wrinkled due to my distress of past nights.

He turns to smile at me, but his voice is critical. "Your host is not... _resilient_, is he?"

I start for a moment. Ian is holding his breath in my head. "Of course not," I dismiss brusquely. "The intensity of his dreams and memories are simply an indication of my host's strong consciousness when he was alive. I have never experienced such aptitude in sensibility before. Not even in the Fire World."

_Stygian_ is pacified by my analytical response. "Your host _was _a rebellious individual," he responds in a thoughtful manner, his eyes training into the distance, as if remembering something. When he speaks again, his tone is biting. "Savage."

The loathing from Ian flows through me and I act quick to restrain him. "Then, would it not be practical to insist the purpose of my Calling is met? I couldn't imagine such savagery left unconfined would be safe to our species." I deliver my words with such extravagant grandeur that I identify myself with the Machiavellian mask of the Seeker standing in front of me.

His lips curl into a corrupt, arrogant smirk. "It would seem we are on the same page," Stygian praises, his gaze commending. He weaves a hand around my back and guides me to the exit of my room. "Do not worry about your window. I am sure one of our serving Souls will be able restore it."

"Have my gratitude," I reciprocate kindly. "I was ashamed the past emotions of my host reached me like that."

This time around, Stygian's smile encompasses his whole expression and even thaws out his arctic eyes. "Souls who become efficient Seekers always have to endure through struggles with the history of their host," he lectures and stills in his steps to face me eye-to-eye. "It weathers them, hardens them. Most significantly, it makes Souls recognise the rift between our species and humanity. A rift which can never be alleviated. Do not forget that."

"I will not forget that," I pledge while Ian convulses internally. His abhorrence does not show in my expression. Fortunately, Stygian's observatory skills are not perceptive enough to see past that. He cannot witness the constrictions of Ian: every twist of my spine in revolt and every clench of my heart in affliction.

As Stygian opens the entrance to the conference room of the Seekers, I come to terms with my imminent orientation. I sorely hope these occurrences will undergo accordingly to the phrase _mind over_ _matter_,that I will be able to withstand the boundless scorch of Ian's wildfire inside me.

We sit opposite of each other as we did before, Stygian's back facing the vast window behind us. There are always windows. I can't help but to wonder why, though the sunlight is soft and soothing on my skin. I voice my inquisition, "Why are there so many windows in this building?"

Stygian's face brightens, the sheen of his pale complexion more evident than I have ever seen it. I don't allow the illumination in his expression to fool me into thinking he is gracious. His face brightens not in a way of altruism and happiness, but in sheer triumph and domination. His complexion is ghostly, the lines of his skin back to agitate the already distinctive bones in his facial structure.

"We own the planet," Stygian declares so vainly, his stare possessive as he surveys the view outside the window. "We deserve to have vision of what we have gained, do we not?" He sounds like an Emperor, I muse. An Emperor who believes the end justifies the means—an advantageous Emperor willing to do whatever he needs to receive what he wants.

I smile in return, the engaging of the muscles in my mouth like pins into my throat. "You are perfectly correct." The volume of Ian's voice in my mind, which was originally silenced, has now exponentially risen to the resonance equivalent of a full stadium. _Own the planet__?_ He yells, furious. _It was _never_ yours to have._

But his fury then is not comparable to the fury which abounds in the next few seconds. Stygian pulls an item out of his duty belt and I am already aware of what he is giving me before I see it. A refined revolver slides into view, metallic with its silver glean. The itch in my fingers returns.

"Now," Stygian announces, touching the revolver lightly and leaning it towards me, "It is your turn to exercise our ownership." I cage my jaw and lock every muscle and bone inside of me. I can taste the iron in my mouth as I bite my tongue. "When you find them," Stygian continues, "And you _will _find them, kill her if it becomes necessary. Kill Wanderer."

I cannot explicitly describe the crushing weight of heartbreak which lands on my chest, but it hits me like a flood at the speed of a lightning strike. I could feel Ian annihilating the fortification I had built and in a last ounce of battle, I screech, _Accept your loss! You _cannot_ save her! You will all die one day!_

_ACCEPT MY LOSS? _Ian roars, his blaze flaring to impossible heights. _WHAT HAVE _YOU _EVER LOST__? _Ian shatters through the remainder of my defence, an incomparable force of nature which obliterates everything in its path. His power charges through every iota of my being and I hear his unquenchable thoughts.

"NO!" I scream in desperation as my hand flings forward, grabbing the revolver and levelling its aim. The trigger is pulled, the revolver snapping back with the explosion of gun powder. I catch the flash of betrayal in Stygian's eyes as his body collapses onto the cold floor. The blood from the wound splatters onto the window behind us. I have never seen something so horrible.

The legs which stand up from my seating position are not mine. I am no longer in control of the body that stalks towards Stygian, standing menacingly above his crippled form. He is clenching his chest, his breath coming out in gusts and his body trembling like an earthquake. He is dying.

"You will _not _have her," my voice says. Ian's voice. It is hard and threatening, so unlike mine. "You will _never _have her." Ian forces my body down, my fingers clutching the shoulders of Stygian as Ian hauls him up against the window, banging his body beside the blood. Stygian whimpers. Ian is in rage.

Ian shakes his body with every phrase, "Do you see this window? This is _not _a reminder of how you own the planet. This is a reminder of how the alleviation of your so-called unbreakable rift between Souls and humanity will be your end. Does it disgust you? Does it _scare _you?" Ian does not let him answer, but that is because he already knows the answer. He knows Souls fear humans.

He drops my hold on Stygian, letting him slide miserably to the floor again, his face against the window. As soon as Ian hears the clatter of his head against the ground, he turns us around and hunts for the exit out of the building.

_Ian, what are you _doing? _How could you _kill _him? _I protest helplessly as he continues his pace, winding through the corridors to find the ultimate exit. I am aghast with what has happened. I have never considered Ian to be a saviour of any sort, but I have never considered to him to be such a monster. In his memories, there is only the warmer side of him. Such warmth has currently culminated into a volcanic eruption of some sorts.

Ian ignores my thoughts. "His _body_ will die," Ian huffs in response, still frustrated, though his previous rage is already gone. "But _he _will not die. Why do you think I didn't shoot him in the head? I could've."

_I know you could've_, I reply, and the realisation makes me even more confused. Ian advances through the lowering levels of the building, steadily reaching his destination. I can see the break of sunlight in front of us, the horizon which peeks through the twin-doors of the entrance. _Why didn't you?_

Ian breathes a sigh of relief as we exit the building, but he doesn't stop running. His speed is tremendous, the trees of the roads passing us in a blur. He opts to converse with me internally as other Souls have caught sight of our suspicious journey. Ian just grins with a sincere amiability I am unable to produce. It _is _his body, after all, I can't help but to concede. Souls, being believable, smile back and take his speedy run as exercise.

_I was being honest when I said I'd kill anyone who tries to touch Wanda,_ Ian says fixedly, _However Wanda wouldn't take kindly to me killing Souls. I love her enough to hurt any Seeker it takes, but to kill them would be to disrespect her. She is still one of you. _Surprisingly, he doesn't say the last phrase with any bitterness, rather with accepting truth.

The revolver is still slick in my hand and the weapon feels hardly as unadulterated as it first looked like. I couldn't comprehend how Ian was able to muster such anger only a few minutes ago and then have it flatten like this. It sounded contradictory, but it must've required some mastery to interchange between two such adverse versions of demeanour.

I could feel myself smiling. _Ian _is smiling at my thoughts. It is a nostalgic smile. _When I was angry at Wanda for the first time,_ Ian recounts quietly, _She was afraid of me. I don't want such an anger to control me for so long. I don't want to see what I'd be willing to do to save her now. I'd probability massacre an entire population just to see her alive._

"You love her," I confirm, in my own voice. Ian has relinquished his control. "You really love her."

_Of course I do. I _always _will. _

We both look at the setting where Ian has had us arrive—an incessant stretch of desert outside the skirts of the city. I see nothing spectacular, but I feel Ian must be seeing something for my heart wells with immense hope. A tear leaks down my cheek and I lift my fingers to touch my eyelashes as I had done so many times before. I realise then that I can't hate Ian.

It is the first time I feel happiness at my eyelashes being wet. I take a steady step towards the horizon, towards what feels like home.

* * *

I wrote all of this in one go, so I'm apologetic if it comes off a little rusty. I wanted to get this chapter in to you all because I'm going on vacation for a few days, so my next update won't be until a week from now. I hope you really did enjoy this chapter because it is a tremendously pivotal point in the story.

Thank you to all people who reviewed, favourited or followed! It really gives me inspiration to keep on writing. For those who have been asking for updates, don't worry, they will be happening! :)

To **Violet Eternity**, I am ecstatic this story managed to make your night! The lyric reference at the beginning of the story was Battle Born by The Killers.


	4. 4

**4.** _like a feather bringing kingdoms to their knees_

* * *

(Shift in POV)

Out of all the things that could occur in the world, I never thought I would have to lose my brother.

The state of the Earth had become more chaotic than I could've predicted in a matter of years, but even given that, losing Ian was never on my list. I admit I acted like a jerk towards him many times, nonetheless he was the only family I had left. Our parents had been killed in the latter waves of invasion.

Yet in all rationality, I should've been able to foresee this happening. Ian is more magnanimous than I am—well, more magnanimous than anyone I have ever met, for that matter—and if the situation arose for someone to be sacrificed for the better of others, it _would _be Ian.

I look towards Wanda, who wears the same, unmoving expression. The plate in front of her is untouched and she stares at it dejectedly, her shoulders hunched. I swear at any moment she could start crying. Jared and Melanie share concerned glances but know it is fruitless to try and change her demeanour.

Wanda stands up, the frailty of her body immediately becoming apparent, along with the pallidity of her complexion and the loss of light in her eyes. She passes her eyes over us all briefly, a fake smile barely making its way onto her lips. She doesn't fool anyone. "Good night," she says in a whisper, the high-pitched ring in her voice no longer audible.

Then Wanda turns and disappears into the shadows of the caves as she's always done. There is no doubt she is going to return to the room she used to share with Ian. I refuse to ever title Ian's disappearance with the word _death_, but I have to admit we have been all losing hope, and Wanda is becoming more brittle by the day.

Guilt floods into my system as I remember how I believed Wanda's love for Ian was mere deception. She _was _a parasite to me back in those times, but now I am more than sure Wanda's love for Ian will be something that could kill her.

I push the seat from under me as I stand up rigidly. I don't bother to pass the farewell Wanda did, because everyone in the caves knows I have been reduced to a man of few words. Even Sunny has left me some space, even though she does spend as much time with me as possible, which I am secretly thankful of. The small wisps of comfort do help me along the way.

I walk down the same path Wanda would've until I reach the destination. My stride slows when I reach the door, knocking on it softly. No reply. I have never been much for courtesies, so I just announce loudly enough, "It's Kyle."

There is a shuffle from the room. "Come in," Wanda murmurs and I can detect the misery from outside. I gently lift the door to the side and enter the room before repeating the process.

When I turn around, I examine Wanda and she is nothing short of miserable. She is lying dismally against the wall, seated strategically below the crack in the ceiling. Half of her hair covers her expression and looks as if it hasn't been brushed for weeks, the golden tint fading to dirty blonde. From what I can see in her face, there are already faded tear lines.

She turns her head upwards to meet my tall gaze and I know there is an identical reflection of pain in my eyes. I don't often express my emotion because there are few things in the world that can affect me, but my brother happens to be the most significant one. I almost flinch at how heartbreaking her eyes are and promptly remember Ian's words before the raid which took him away from us: _If anything ever happens to me, I want you to take care of Wanda._

Ian saying this wasn't a matter of coincidence in that he disappeared the same day—in fact, Ian says this to me before every raid. I don't quite know why he felt it was correct to place the responsibility onto me after all I've done, though it proves the trust and faith he has in me, a notion I cannot ignore.

I purse my lips, unable to think of something productive to say and Wanda looks down to the ground. My fists clench and unclench at my hips. I know Wanda would never blame anyone for what happened to Ian, but I also know I blame myself for what happened more than anyone else. Ian is my little brother, the one I was meant to go against the rest of the world with.

I still remember back to the day when we escaped the Seekers. It was also the day our family as we knew it died. We had survived the first waves of invasion, hiding away in a small house in the middle of nowhere. Well before the caves Ian and I had become adjusted to the desert; it was our home in a way. We used to play soccer in the dirt all the time and come out grimy with sweat, slapping clammy high-fives and rustling each other's dishevelled hair.

I always saw myself as the protector of Ian. He was the younger and thinner brother. On physical impression, people would believe I was more built to deflect the blows that would come our way, despite soon knowing Ian smarter than I was. He was slower to anger, calmer in demeanour and epitomised in kindness. But because I still would be stronger in body, I made it my responsibility to make sure the Seekers would never get their hands on him.

The day came when the Seekers located our habitat. Our family had known the day would come, we just hoped it didn't and relied on our audacity if it did. Needless to say, not many things went to plan. The Seekers surrounded our home with their vehicles and drew in a tight-knitted circle, all welding revolvers in their hands. At the time, Jodi was there as well, and we looked at each other knowing what was needed to be done. Our parents had planned this beforehand and they shuffled the three of us, Ian, Jodi and I to the back of the house while they feigned being the only individuals left.

When I was young I knew my parents to be pacifists. They were against having weapons and showing negative emotion, which was ironic because I had fury in spades. Ian followed my parents' personalities, adopted their benevolence while I strayed somewhere off-course, creating my own rebellion and inadvertently growing distant from my brother.

However, this day changed a lot of things, especially the way I perceived the world. As I held one arm around Ian and the other around Jodi, two gunshots ran through the house. I was normally oblivious to most situations, but not this one. I knew the Seekers wouldn't resort to violence, especially when they outnumbered my parents easily.

I immediately concluded my parents had shot themselves and that this was just the way the world was. I really _didn't _want to look back to confirm this, yet for some reason my foolish mind decided this was best: I should face the music. And face the music I did. My parents were lying face-down in their own blood, gunshots to their temples and their own revolvers in their hands.

I turned swiftly back around and pushed Ian and Jodi forward before they could witness the same scene I did. Ian obliged but Jodi was a different story—I was too late to stop her from viewing my parents, and she was frozen in place staring eye-to-eye with the Seekers. Before I knew it I was yelling at her, even though it was blatant she was in shock, the blood draining from her face.

The Seekers had heard my desperation and I was left with a choice: to stay with Jodi and to leave Ian to survive on his own, or to leave Jodi and to go with Ian. I chose Ian. I knew then that I would always choose Ian.

I didn't look back when I ran away with Ian, leaving Jodi behind. I didn't look back not just because the pain of seeing Jodi would drown me until I was suffocating, more because I believed I made the right decision. I loved Jodi, however Ian was my blood. I could learn to love another girl, even if it took years and years, but eternity wouldn't grant me another brother.

I lean myself against the wall of the cave, staring at Wanda as she silently makes her way towards the bed she would have laid in with Ian. She slumps her body onto the bed, her head buried into the pillow.

I see the silver lining of her eyes, but in the desolation of her expression, such a silver lining has become inconspicuous. The faded grey of her iris is much more noticeable, the deadening of her being akin to a wilting flower. If she looked this lustreless, what did I look like?

Has the pale sheen of my complexion degraded to a sickly, diseased wash? Have my dry lips thinned into my skin? Has my entire body become a distraught display of skeletal catastrophe, a dark cloud which never stops storming?

I had to be strong. For Ian. For Wanda. For myself. I _had _to be strong, like I always was, like I _should _be. I looked as tormented as Wanda, which meant in this situation we were quite similar, a rare occurrence. Maybe if I geared a hearty expression on my face, Wanda would reflect me like a mirror and we could share our resilience in the same way we shared our ache.

"Ian will find a way to come back," I murmur, only then realising how bleak and thick my tone sounded. I hear a rustle in the sheets of the bed, indicating Wanda heard me.

Her response is correspondingly grim. "Why?"

I smile in the darkness, haggard and ripping through my jaw, but it is a smile. I lift my eyes to the crack in the ceiling. The stars which greet me hang from the sky like golden globes of hope. Ian _is _alive, I resolve. The thought that he is viewing the identical night sky alleviates me.

The words which trickle from my tongue are sincere, as sincere as I have ever spoken in my life. "Because he loves you more than he has ever loved anyone." I pause, closing my eyes to will back the burning tears on the edge of my lids. In the silence, I feel Wanda trace my left bicep with her finger. She must have stepped up from her bed.

I focus my eyes to see her through the shadows and catch a glimpse of her fragile smile. "Thank you," she breathes, her gaze intense. I detect every flutter of pain which breezes over her face, no doubt caused by my resemblance to Ian. But I am more than aware Ian is irreplaceable—I have inadequacies where he has potencies and it takes all of my effort to attempt to fill in those spaces.

In Wanda I find some sort of redemption, especially in her appreciative expression. This makes me sense I have done something, that I am not completely useless without Ian. It is a revelation. Ian makes me great, and I don't want to be great unless it _is_ with Ian.

Wanda steps away from me and returns to her bed. I settle myself to a resting position, my back firm against the wall and my knees raised to my chest. It only takes a few minutes before Wanda curls into a ball, her body rising and lowering steadily.

I can almost make out the indent of Ian's posture beside her, wrapped around her small frame.

* * *

Personally, this chapter was quite hard to write for a multitude of reasons. There are few stories with Kyle's perspective and this is something I have always wanted to experiment with because his personality is so complex, the sort you have to treat by reading inbetween the lines. I receive the perception all of the O'Shea family would have had warm hearts on the inside.

I also desire this chapter wasn't too heart-wrenching, though that may be a fault on my part as I've lost a brother of my own recently, so I poured a lot of my emotion into this one. Hopefully it made you feel all the more connected to how Kyle is feeling! :)

Thank you once again to all of the praising responses, it really makes my day and glad to continue this story. A return in POV to Glaciers/Ian will occur in the next chapter, since as you know they're finding their way to the caves. A special mention to **RainbowTeeth8**, whose compliments on my accuracy of Ian and the Souls made me smile.

The lyric reference at the beginning of the chapter was Turning Page by Sleeping at Last.


End file.
